Page 4 of Caution

ThatMr. Black.

Two

Igrew up surrounded by flowers.

Roses, to be specific.

My mother practically interred us in them, although I could vividly remember the smell of them making me violently ill as a child, the touch of them leaving rashes on my skin.

It didn’t matter.

She would soothe me though—comfort me while I cried, give me oatmeal baths to calm the red raised welts, keep the windows and doors open to let in a breeze of fresh air. Eventually, I developed some sort of immunity to them. Her DIY version of immersion therapy, I guess.

From immunity, I grew accustomed to them.

Unbothered by their presence.

After she died… I found comfort in them.

And from that comfort, love.

I immersedmyselfin them now.

In my chosen trade as a florist, I utilized them whenever I could, even though they weren't the most exotic flower. They were versatile though. Some were finicky to grow, so I was able to get a good challenge.

Especially with developing hybrids. I had ample land I’d purchased on my own, with the insurance money my mother had left me. I hadn’t been able to have my greenhouse built yet, but Ihadplanted a whole damn field of roses, using seeds I’d developed myself.

Roses my mysterious neighbors had deemed a nuisance and had removed.

I wasstillsalty about it.

But, I had access to another greenhouse, a property the Blacks had no control over. It was there that I created a little niche of my own, to support my tiny—but successful—business.

For my current order, I was packing up all the different varieties I needed from what I'd processed at the shop in the city. A hundred stems each of roses, dahlias, peonies, hydrangea, orchids, and lilies. I had ten different table arrangements to make, each interspersed with greenery to create the final looks.

Could I have waited for help to get all these boxes out to my SUV?

Sure.

This was definitely work that could wait until morning.

But, since sleep had been so elusive—I wanted to blame that weird ass encounter from the trail a few nights ago, but honestly, even before that—I figured it was better to fill my time with something productive, instead of scrolling social media and bingeing TV.

I could do the arrangementswhileI binged TV.

These boxes were fucking heavy though.

So much so that I wasn't trying to carry too much at once or bother loading them on a cart to get them outside instead. A cart may have saved me some steps, but certainly not any back usage. I’d rather pick them up once and just head straight out, knowing I’d have to unload them again at home.

So that was what I’d been doing, one by one in the back parking lot ofSomething Blue,the event planning collective space I shared with a few other small businesses. One of them was a commercial kitchen ran by Celeste, one of my best friends in the world.

She’d been a bit hard to get ahold of lately, even harder to hang out with now that she’d started focusing on evening events, which threw our schedules off. I made a mental note to get in touch with her ass by whatever means necessary though. I needed to talk to her, especially since she was quite deeply enmeshed with a Mr. Black of her own.

I let out a sigh of relief as I picked up the last box of flowers, a box of my proudest accomplishment, red and white striped roses I charged a pretty penny for since they weren't something I'd been able to consistently replicate.

I took the box under my arm precariously so I could fish my keys from my pocket and lock the rear door before I headed out to my vehicle, since I wouldn't be going back inside. While my back was turned to the lot though, the strangest feeling crept up on me.

Again.

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